


not feeling lonely, i just like being alone

by significantly



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Age Difference, Angst, Fluff, M/M, and boats and stuff, and harry wears headscarves and is philosophical, drinking but not really, etc etc - Freeform, harry is a pretty aristocrat who has dead parents and moves in next door, implied ziam but not really showing it, lake house fic, larry - Freeform, lirry bromance strong, literally so much fluff you could drown in it, louis is a recluse author who is stuck in a rut, louis writes romance novels how cute, so like water, they live on a lake, zouis bromance strong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-11
Updated: 2014-09-11
Packaged: 2018-02-16 23:01:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2287697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/significantly/pseuds/significantly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>au. louis is a recluse author who hasn't written a word in far longer than he'd like to admit. harry is the walking reminder of everything he's always wanted to say. they meet at the docks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	not feeling lonely, i just like being alone

**Author's Note:**

> so i've been writing this story since april and i've gotta say it took a lot of time. it's set on a lake and though it's implied that they're all british i always pictured this specific lake to be lake winnipesaukee, nh and the mentioned pier to be half-moon boardwalk. widows island, however, is completely made up.
> 
> it's important to note that if you catch any spelling errors you should let me know. bits and pieces of this were written on notepad, a program that doesn't really have spell check, and while i try to go over it as thoroughly as i can, typos definitely slip through the cracks. 
> 
> for anyway that cares, i also have a loose great gatsby au on my profile. other than that, thank you to anyone who reads, comments, and gives a kudos. you're all the bomb.

louis leaned down over the glittering lake as it spilled out from underneath him. in the distance, sunset just broke out over widow’s island in bleeding reds and pinks, and louis stared at it wondering how he could feel so tired from doing absolutely nothing.  he told himself that he led a busy life.

(he didn’t really.)

running a hand through his shaggy hair, louis perched himself on the hard panes of wood that led up the dock and let his feet dangle off the edge to skim the rippling water. he only leaned back for a second to let what was left of the evening sun wash over his face before it jerked back up again to the sound of a motor roaring to life.

it wasn’t the motor that surprised him. living on the lake meant boat engines starting up and dying down, bringing the waves to life again during a particularly calm day. it was common to hear jet skis skimming the waters’ edge most hours of the day. the part that startled louis, however, was how close it sounded. though he lived in a residential area of the lake, very few people could afford the houses around him, and for many years he lived in solitude with no neighbors and empty houses. but when he looked up he saw that the dock that broke out of his neighbor’s yard was occupied by two unfamiliar people.

he couldn’t see their faces, as they were both turned to inspect a long, gorgeous motor boat, but from their statures he knew that they were young teenagers, boys really. that shocked him. in all the years he’d lived there, he assumed the house next door was empty. year after year their house was silent, no boats or skis or people.

the two boys, both tall and raven-haired, tuned to high-five each other and then walked up the dock to a grassy cropping of yard. the one of the right, a tall, spindly boy with sunglasses on, turned as if on instinct to stare at louis and wave, like they’d known each other all of their lives. louis suddenly felt very embarrassed, getting caught in nothing but his swim trunks. he covered his stomach surreptitiously and waved back.

he heard a screen door snap shut and assumed the boys went inside their house but didn’t want to look up to verify that. he stared at his feet again, a dull ache in his chest as he thought of his own friends several miles away. it had been a very long time since he’d gone out with zayn, who was always busy with work and art and galleries. they hadn’t had a drink in ages, let alone gone out and pulled. he thought about calling him up and then shut down the idea. zayn had better things to do than listen to louis complain about how empty his words were.

louis wasn’t always so lame, but as he thought about how little friends he’d managed to keep after high school ended, he felt a sudden pang of shame hit him square in the chest. he still had zayn and niall, but josh left for some university in america and never talked to louis again and rowan married lucy and lost touch with their “group” all together. louis thought, very seriously, about befriending the two boys next door before shutting down that idea as well. they were too young to be friends with louis, who was practically an old hag at twenty-nine. he couldn’t think of anything more lame than showing the two guys his collection of novelty harry potter memorabilia and then talking about how he hasn’t written anything in more than a year and a half. he used to have an interesting life of road trips and late night smokes and lazy hook ups. but now no one, not even himself, wanted to be his friend.

louis sighed and rolled over on the dock, so he could see the water drifting under his body through the cracks in the wood. the sky was getting dark very fast, melting into pretty purples and blues like it did every night. louis wanted to sleep. he wouldn’t have minded falling asleep right there, letting the thrum of the lake lull him to sleep, but just as he let his eyes slipped closed, the boys next door startled him again.

heavy, pulsing music came from next door like the beat of a rapid heart, and louis felt he should’ve known. young boys. party boys. probably spent more on renting out a lake house for one night than they did on their education. he bet the place would be swarmed with teenagers within hours.

soon he became used to the steady thrum and let his eyelids fall heavily. he didn’t want to have any part in a dumb party filled with young boys getting drunk. he didn’t care, but more importantly, he didn’t envy them. he had the lake, and he had his words, and he had his best friends regardless of the miles between them. that settled his chest a bit for him to doze off.

he woke not long after to find that the music continued through the night. it was the first thing he heard.  first thing he saw, however, was the pretty face of a very young man. his hair was long and wild and dumb looking as it stood out from underneath a thick, pink beanie. his face, however, was quite neat and symmetrical with green eyes and pink lips pressed into a smirk. it was the kind of face that you could write sonnets about, the kind of eyes you’d compare to the lake, the kind of lips you’d want pressed at the nape of your neck. louis opened his eyes to find the ache in his chest rip painfully for the pretty boy about to speak.

“are you alright, mate?” the boy said in a deep voice. louis’ head hurt. he couldn’t have been more than seventeen and he already sounded like more of a man than louis ever would.

“yeah,” louis responded and cringed at the delicate tenor of his own voice.

the boy smiled and perched his long body on a fold out chair opposite louis. “was just trying to make sure you didn’t die out here. my friends and i were starting to get worried.”

louis thought of a plethora of college boys laughing at the man next door passed out on his dock and repressed the urge to groan miserably. he really did look like an idiot.

“was just a little tired,” louis told him, sitting up and fixing his hair, though it did nothing for his pride. he gave his most charming smile in spite of himself and eyed the other boy’s comfortable posture in his chair. it didn’t look like he was going to move anytime soon. not that louis’ particularly minded. “don’t you have people over?”

the boy’s head turned to face his house, and a look of disdain hit him. “yeah, but they can do without me.” he turned back to louis. it was comical the way his face lit up again. “i’m harry.”

“i’m louis,” he replied and shivered as a burst of wind hit them. it occurred to louis that this pretty, most likely underage boy was in front of him, eying his naked chest with an unreadable expression.

“are you cold?” harry said. he reached out a hand, and louis took it appreciatively. “let’s go inside.”

louis nearly stopped in his tracks. he knew harry didn’t mean into the house next door, as a party lived on in the early hours in the morning, but surely he didn’t mean in louis’ house. was it his clever way of inviting himself over? wasn’t he worried about his guests next door? louis didn’t say a word, though, he just followed harry up the dock until his bare feet reached the grass of his backyard and eventually the wood of his back deck. harry stepped aside to let louis open the door and then followed louis in once he did.

“you should probably change or something, so you don’t catch a cold.”

louis just stared at him strangely, wondering if the boy was coming on to him and being startlingly unaware of how to respond.

harry noticed louis’ hesitation, and his wide mouth broke out into a toothy grin. “i swear i’m not trying to get you out of your clothes; i just figured your wet swim trunks were a bit uncomfortable. i can wait here.”

louis sighed, only a bit wary of leaving this adolescent stranger in his home unattended, but he left anyways because as much as he didn’t want to admit it, harry was right. his trunks were chaffing against certain bits in a very unflattering way.

he returned minutes later to see harry had taken up the left half of the loveseat, his long, delicate fingers scrolling through a twitter feed. when he noticed he wasn’t alone anymore, he looked up to louis and whistled. “much better,” he said, and louis wanted to shut him up.

his black jeans were tight against his damp skin and he felt a little dumb in his modern baseball band tank top. his arms were far too skinny to pull it off; he didn’t even know what he was thinking.

“if you don’t mind me asking,” louis began, with a little more attitude than he intended, “why aren’t you worried about your own guests at your own party at your own house?”

harry didn’t look taken back from louis’ attitude. he shrugged good-naturedly and put his phone back in his pocket. “i don’t particularly like hanging out with people once they hit a certain point of inebriation. they’ll be fine, but seeing as i’m not drunk enough to enjoy their fun…” he trailed off uncertainly.

“don’t you parents care that you’re drinking underage?”

that made harry pause. “underage? how old do you think i am?”

louis ran a hand through the hair on the back of his neck. “i dunno. seventeen? sixteen?”

harry scoffed, a little surprised. his eyebrows were pulled together and it made him look even younger and innocent. louis wanted to hug him.

“i’m nineteen, thank you very much.” he said it like it should have been obvious, like his dumb curly hair and dimples should have been a dead giveaway of his maturity.

louis smiled for the first time in a long time. “oh?”

“yes!” harry insisted, urgent now. “perfectly legal.”

louis didn’t comment on the underlying meaning he suspected came with that statement.   
“fine, then. then maybe you wouldn’t mind a drink?”

harry shrugged. “i told you before; i don’t particularly like drinking or hanging out with people who are drunk.”

“okay. that’s understandable. how about a soda?”

“sounds about right,” harry told him. “coke?”

“sure.” louis got up to go to the fridge, and he felt harry’s gaze follow his every step. “did you rent out that house next door?”

“no, i own it.”

louis probably didn’t hear that right.

“your parents do?”

harry gave a small smile at that. “no. i own it. i bought it last year. just haven’t visited.”

louis returned to the couch, two coca-cola glasses in hand. he stared at the younger boy expectantly.

“what?”

“nothing,” louis said quickly.

he set down the glasses and continued to stare at harry. he was only nineteen, a full ten years younger than louis himself. his clothes were old and worn. his black skinny jeans had a big rip in the knee exposing a large mass of his pale skin and his long-sleeved shirt had holes in the collar and seams. the dark of his clothes contrasted with the pink knit material of his beanie. he was a teenage boy who didn’t like to drink and could somehow afford million dollar lake houses. okay. louis got it. understood.

harry let out a breath as if he could hear louis’ thought. he leaned forward to take the glass in his hand, and louis admired the way the starlight hugged the pretty curve of harry’s back. “i came into a large amount of money when my parents died, alright?”

“why didn’t you use it for, like, university?” louis hoped he wasn’t being too rude. he didn’t think he was coming across as very amicable.

“i didn’t go to uni,” harry said offhandedly. he took a sip of his drink and then stood up. from louis’ spot on the couch, harry towered over him, long legs stringing across the room. he stood in front of the bookshelf next to the tele and read through the titles, fingers tracing the bindings.

louis’ neck tensed on reflex. he resisted the urge to tell harry to leave the books alone, and could not think of a way to divert his attention. as he saw the young boy’s body turn away from him, he found himself speechless.

“you’ve got quite the collection,” harry told him, voice light. louis could hear the sound of his fingers trailing the bindings.

“do you read?”

“not particularly,” harry told him. he cocked his hip out and pulled a book from its place. “i do appreciate them, though.”

“how can you appreciate them if you don’t read them?”

harry frowned. he looked genuinely sad, and louis instantly regretted saying whatever it was that upset him.

“i don’t know,” harry admitted a bit shamefully, face pink. “i just like them. like having them. i would read them if you wrote them, though.” his words ended so hopefully.

louis froze. the hand holding his drink put the glass back on the table carefully.

“harry--”

he didn’t wait to interrupt. “my real estate agent told me you wrote novels for a living under a pseudonym. is that true?”

“no,” louis said.

“i don’t believe you.”

“you don’t have to,” louis said, feeling defensive now. “i know you mean well, but i don’t do that stuff anymore.”

“don’t what? write? your books still exist, louis. i would love to read them. get to know you.”

louis paused. his fingers smoothed around the rim of his drink. it wasn’t as if he was opposed to harry. he was just so embarrassed of his novels; he could hardly read them without cringing. louis was signed by a publishing company early out of university, back when his words were still young and naive, plots weak, and sentences rambling. he didn’t want harry--or anyone, for that matter--to read them and think little of him. he talked about words as if he could string together sentences like an artisan, but the books sitting a little too close to harry on that shelf didn’t reflect what he knew he was capable of.

“not today,” louis settled with.

harry’s face softened, presumably at something in louis’ voice, and he nodded. he set down the book and perched next to louis on the loveseat. the unsteady thud of music coming from harry’s house shook the ground; louis could feel the thumping in his bones.

“i failed english, you know.”

louis laughed delicately. he tried not to sound too harsh, as he felt he’d been mean to harry since their first words. i bet you appreciated the class though.

harry trailed his hand over his mouth and smiled through his fingers. “you haven’t seemed to catch my drift. i want you to tell me about yourself.”

are we doing this now? “you go first,” louis quipped.

harry seemed pleased to comply. “my name is harry styles. i am nineteen mature years old and live next to you. i love yoga, black tea, and long walks down the aisle.”

“you sound like the kind of person who reads auras at the country fair.”

harry put his hands flat against the air and closed his eyes. “your aura is telling me you’re a little bitch.”

louis laughed out loud for the first time in a while, and his chest ached. but what could he say in return? he was a lonely, old author who hadn’t written a word in months, didn’t have any friends, and hadn’t been laid in far, far too long. “my name is louis. i am twenty nine much more mature years old. i have lived here longer than i want to admit. i write books but not well and not lately. and i like pizza.”

harry shrugged. “typical.”

louis hit him in the shoulder. it was getting very late; the sun creeping up over the horizon and shining through the gaps in the island trees. louis hadn’t realized how long he’d slept for. he looked at harry, who was long and lithe and pretty on the couch next to him, and felt bad as his mouth told harry to leave before his mind could tell him not to.

“busy day today?”

no. “yes,” louis said. he stood up from the couch. “it’s getting too late for an old man like me.”

“you’re not old, louis, you’re just aged.”

louis snorted and pushed back his fringe. “is there any difference?”

“one’s sad and one’s sexy.”

louis shot him a look. “is aged cheese sexy? or is it just moldy?”

harry pointed a finger. “blue cheese is delicious.”

“no, it isn’t; it’s an abomination.”

harry smirked and leaned forward. “all i’m saying is that you shouldn’t care so much about your physical age, but how old you are in spirit.”

“i knew it,” louis mumbled. “you’re the guy that reads auras and mediates and recycles, aren’t you? i had no idea i befriended a hippie.”

harry rolled his eyes. “just trying to share some of my mature nineteen year old wisdom with your immature, aged persona.”

“you better be careful, harry. the next step is wearing tie-dye bandanas and singing wonderwall under a willow tree.”

harry laughed and pushed an errant curl back inside his beanie. in this light he didn’t look as young as he was, and the thought slipped louis’ mind just for a moment. he told harry, just once more, about his busy day tomorrow, and harry seemed to get the hint. he took his coat off the recliner, but when louis went to shake his hand, harry used it to pull louis in a hug. it was so unexpected and so unfamiliar, louis’ breath hitched at the sudden feeling of harry’s fingers digging into his lower back. the hug was short and innocent, but it still left louis feeling lonely when harry pulled away again with a toothy grin.

“see you tomorrow, lou--or rather today.”

\--

“goddammit!” louis grabbed for the bow of the boat and looped the rope through the handles. no matter how many times he retied the knot, it always came undone. he wasn’t a sailor. the waves were anything but calm that morning, rocking the frame of the boat so it hit the side of the dock every time it shook. it made for annoying background noise as louis sat in his deck chair and tried to write even a few words.

he spent most of the previous night with his loud mind, falling into light sleeps only to wake up to a fit of pretty one-liners and plot devices. it was the first time in months his brain wouldn’t shut down, and louis actually loved it.

once he got the boat secure enough to silence the knocking, he picked up his pen and journal again and continued where he left off. he wrote for twenty--maybe thirty minutes solid before he decided to get a drink. when he walked down the stairs of his back deck, lemonade in his hand, he looked over to see the intimidating, towering lake house next door. he could distinctly see harry laying down on his porch bench.

louis didn’t think his actions through before he was walking over and gently shaking harry’s shoulder awake. he spared only a few thoughts for walking right on harry’s property, as harry had done the same thing yesterday.

harry was less composed when he woke up. he was still wearing the same tattered jeans and loose shirt, with his pink beanie pressed tightly over his head. louis watched the way his broad chest rose and fell with each breath he took. louis shook his shoulder again, harder this time, and harry stopped snoring with a jolt and fluttered his eyes open.

he looked confused. then he smiled. “louis,” he said, as if he’d been expecting the older man’s arrival.

“do you not have a bed?”

“someone threw up in it.”

louis grimaced. “charming. do you need some help?”

harry perked. “would you like to help me, louis?”

“don’t get too excited; i’m trying to be nice.”

harry smiled, this time genuinely, and rose from the bench. he rolled his neck and stretched his arms, and louis felt jealous as he watched the younger man go from laying down below him to rising above the crown of his head.

harry opened the glass door that led into a large, open room. it was strewn with cups and coats and broken glass.

“watch your footing. i think matty broke a pitcher last night.”

louis continued on in. when you ignored the mess from the party, the room was gorgeous. the walls stretched up twenty feet, with long, plated glass windows and hardwood frames. from there, you could see the glittering lake as if the house was floating on it, like there were no other people for miles. the only thing you could see was the water, and in the very distance, the tiny green island that interrupted a painted pink skyline.

how much money do you have to inherit to get a view like this?

harry, like before, seemed to know what he was thinking. “my dad was a mechanic and my mother was a painter--very prestigious. i was always going to galleries and playing with the pastels while she talked to clients and sold off oil-paintings worth more than i was. i was taught to be creative and clever-fingered. they worked more than they were home, but they didn’t spend. that’s why i have this place. my mother loved to work with the widow’s island and explore what she could paint from the inside.”

“your mother lived here? on the lake?”

harry put his hands in his pockets. “she owned a house out there, but widow’s island was her home, especially after my father died. appropriately named for a woman like her, and appropriately stocked with all kinds of inspiration.”

“and now you’re all alone?” louis asked delicately. he put his hands up to the glass of the slider, but did not touch it. he never knew the lake could be viewed in such a way.

harry laughed softly. “no. i have a sister, gemma. and many, many friends, as you can tell.” he gestured to the party-stricken house, but louis could only notice how empty it was after they were all gone and left behind only reminders of life. still, it was more than louis had. he frowned.

“so now what? you have lots of love and lots of money and lots of liquor, though you won’t drink it. what do you do now?”

“are you asking me what my job is?”

“sure.”

harry paused, and then said, as if he were choosing his words very carefully, “i throw parties, but i don’t attend them. i paint the same lake over and over again with different shades and different sunsets. i make friends and keep people company.”

“does any of that make you money?”

harry shrugged and didn’t answer. “i should start cleaning. were you serious about helping, or were you just trying to get me to take you home?”  
louis looked at the trash-strewn floor to hide his smirk. “that’s very sly, harry, but i don’t think you can win me over that easily.”

“not even with my charming, good-boy facade?”

“is that what it is? a facade?”

harry cocked hip and shot louis a dramatically flirtatious smirk. “wouldn’t you like to know.”

they both laughed, easily, helplessly, as they cleaned. louis took the living room, picking up the broken glass and red solo cups. harry took the kitchen, taking out the trash and scrubbing the dishes with ridiculous, flowery rubber gloves. they worked their way throughout the house, into the office, the bathrooms, and even the bedrooms. harry pulled the remaining duvet up over the pillows as louis shoved the stray shoes left behind into a pile in the corner.

harry eventually stopped to tend to the potted plants sitting on his bedroom windowsill. they were long and overgrown and had leaves that spilled out against the wall cutting shadows across the room. harry handled them with such care, and louis could see that they meant a lot to him, so he didn’t press. he continued to work as harry did and they lapsed into comfortable small talk.

louis wasn’t even thinking as he picked up ripped band shirts and glittery boots. every once in a while harry would shoot out a joke and louis would pretend to laugh to see harry’s satisfied expression (sometimes he really did laugh, out of pure incredulousness). for the most part, he enjoyed the silence and focused on working without thinking, and it felt nice to be in the presence of another person who wanted his presence as well.

“so when are you going to tell me about yourself?” harry asked as he started to close all the doors of the rooms they cleaned. “i told you about myself and a very heart-wrenching story of my childhood and parents. can i hear yours?”  
“my childhood was a lot longer ago than yours, harold.”

“you know my name isn’t actually harold, louis.” louis stuck out his tongue and wondered whether he was the twenty year old there. “c’mon. tell me about your writing.”

“i don’t know what you want me to say. i went to university to study english literature and creative writing. got signed by a publisher when i was twenty three. published my first book by twenty four and my next two after that by twenty five…” he trailed off, trying to pick and choose how much information he was willing to let go.

“what kind of novels were they?” harry sounded like he was trying to get more information out of him.

“they were… don’t laugh. they were romance novels.”

louis doubted harry would laugh, as harry seemed like the kind of person who relished in romance and kindness and gentle things. one thing that louis continued to envy about harry, even in the little time he knew him, was how manly yet feminine he seemed to be and how comfortable he was that way. louis lived most of his life trying to overcompensate for his small hands and high voice that his primary school friends dubbed “girly.” but harry… harry was comfortable with himself in a way that louis could only wish to be.

louis watched as harry’s small smile broke out into a wide grin that lit up every part of his face and made dimples poke out of his cheeks. “that’s lovely, louis. that’s nothing to laugh at.”

louis shrugged. “i dunno. i guess it’s just not something people expect from me.”

harry laughed. “what, with your big boy attitude and muscles and arms covered in tattoos? don’t be so naive, louis. anyone can have a little romance in them.”

louis stared at the boy incredulously. was a nineteen year old telling him to stop being naive? harry still believed in a big difference between physical age and spiritual age, but louis thought it was hard to believe. he’d lived longer and experienced more, but there was some core part of harry that genuinely believed in the spiritual nature of all things and expressed himself in such a wise way, it left louis speechless. at one point in his life, it would have been impossible to take words out of louis’ mouth.

“can i read your novels?”

“no,” louis said immediately.

“please?” harry whined. he flopped down onto his bed and looked up at louis sadly.

louis sighed. “maybe one day.”

“i’ll be counting on that.” he patted the spot on the bed next to him, and it looked so innocent louis didn’t give it a second thought. “come. i’ll reward you with films and tea in exchange for your honorable labor.”

louis pushed his face into the pillow and made an unintelligible snuffling sound.

“that’s the spirit,” harry said.

louis felt the other side of the bed lighten as harry got up and left the room. he returned moments later with clinking china and a bowl of popcorn. louis looked up to the food.

“what’s all over that?” he wondered aloud.

harry put forward the popcorn. “maple syrup. tastes amazing on it. just try.”

louis willingly did and swallowed down his moan. it tasted buttery and sweet; he shoved another handful into his mouth.

at some point harry flicked the tv on and loaded a movie, and the sounds of hedwig’s theme came from hidden speakers only rich people could afford.

“i want you to tell me a story,” harry whispered to him as the opening scenes rolled in. louis thought absently about how good daniel radcliffe’s hair looked in the prisoner of azkaban.

“j.k. rowling could tell you a much better story than i could,” louis insisted, fishing out another piece of popcorn.

they were quiet for a moment and louis assumed they both setted into watching the movie until he heard harry breathe in like he was about to say something significant.

“i also want you to kiss me.” he said it so quietly, so timidly that louis wondered if it came from daniel radcliffe instead. but when he looked over, harry was laying on the pillow next to his, with heavy-lidded, curious eyes and lips pressed together expectantly. louis wasn’t sure how to say no.

“you can’t have both,” he settled for.

harry pushed out his bottom lip stubbornly. “says who?”

“just because you’ve been privileged your entire life doesn’t mean you don’t understand the concepts of want versus need. ration your wants, as you don’t technically need them.”

“that is the most philosophical thing i’ve heard you say so far, louis,” harry said with a breathy laugh. “usually it’s me preaching philosophy. are you saying that i can have one but not both?”

louis weighed his options and tried not to let the tingling in his lips make him biased. “fine,” he said, trying not to sound like he wanted it even though he did. “you can have one. a hardcover copy of my last book or a kiss.”

“i think…” harry said, watching louis’ face with intent. he licked his lips, and louis watched him, wanting to reel in and catch harry’s bottom lip between his teeth. “i think the book.”

louis tried not to feel disappointed.

harry recovered quickly as louis pulled his face an appropriate distance away. “because i know i’m going to have a very long time to kiss you, in many different places and many different ways, but i think seeing this part of your mind and this part of your life is a step i need to take before i go any farther, and an opportunity i need to take while i have it.” harry breathed out heavily. “i’ll get my kiss, hopefully every day, if you’d let me. if you’d want that. hopefully followed by several more. preferably.”

louis mapped the life harry described to him in his head. it was filled with early morning and late night kisses, ones in the dark and ones by the light. louis felt like within the time frame of a day, he’d been pulled into something he was going to enjoy in the long run. he’d never not want to feel harry’s stare on his face. ten minutes ago, it was only a hope that harry would spend a lot of time with him, his kissing companion. now, it was a promise. if louis wanted it, of course. and of course, louis wanted it.

\--

he left talking of times, the novel he wrote four years prior while studying in italy, on harry’s porch mat and walked home before he could change his mind. when he slipped into bed that night, staring wordlessly at the ceiling, he thought about the soft way harry’s hair brushed against his shoulder and how nice it would be to hear harry’s snores every day.

\--

for the next week, louis sat in the plastic chair on his dock and wrote about nice things that reminded him what it was like to care for someone. even if he barely knew them.

from his spot there he could see harry on his dock across the widespread of the lake. everyday harry sat in his shining boat as it rocked up, the dark green cover of talking of times looking like the bay light of east egg in in louis’ eyes. it beamed out to him, more of an epiphany than an omen, but louis couldn’t really tell. the longer harry read, the more nervous louis became. he couldn’t read harry’s face from so far away, and he had no hint as to what the younger boy was thinking. he didn’t know what he cared.

at the end of those long, dragging days came sunday, when harry knocked on the screen door with the sleeve-covered novel coddled to his chest like a child. when louis answered, harry went off immediately.

“they didn’t get together in the end.”

“who?” louis asked, dazed.

“caro and silas. i thought for sure when she said… i thought they were going to get together, and they didn’t. silas is going to be alone again.”

“not forever,” louis said. “maybe one day he’ll find another person.”

“will he ever get married?” harry’s fingers trailed the stretched binding of the pages.

louis paused. “i don’t know. i hadn’t thought of it.”

harry breathed out incredulously. “how have you not thought about it? it’s all i’ve been thinking about for days. they were doing everything right. they traveled the world together, fought for each other, lived for each other. i don’t want to think that silas will be alone forever.”

“it’s a bit different when you’re the one writing it,” louis admitted. “sometimes your brain just projects your own thoughts onto paper and it comes out in fits. it doesn’t mean i don’t want silas to be in love.”

harry stared at the book in his hands and then thrusted it forward into louis’ chest. “i want another.”

“that wasn’t our deal,” louis quipped. he backed up into the house, and harry followed.

“you know, i think after that torturous ending, it’s almost deserved. you can’t just leave me like that. i’m an emotional wreck.”

louis plopped down on the loveseat and invited harry to follow. he was wearing the same jeans he always was except this time his shirt was a pale blue sweater and a long, floral headscarf to match. louis wanted to catch the silky ends of it between his fingers as it fell down harry’s curved spine.

“opening up a book is like signing away your soul. you know the author is going to rip out your heart and you let them anyway.”

harry threw his hands up in the air. “how the hell was i supposed to know that! you know i don’t read.”

“well, now you know.” louis smiled. “you knew that one hurt bad and you still want another. doesn’t that say something about your intentions?”

“i’ll have you know i have no less than honorable intentions, louis tomlinson.”

louis laughed and let harry’s head fall into his neck. he brought up a hand to tangle into the wild mass of curls the scarf tied together. it was comfortable now. harry nuzzled his nose into the junction where louis’ neck met his shoulder and louis leaned his cheek against the top of harry’s head. it was nice. it was so long since louis had felt so simply nice.

“it makes me sad that you don’t write anymore,” harry sighed.

“i was never as good as i wanted myself to be. i couldn’t write all those flowery sentences, and i couldn’t make people fall in love the way i dreamed of falling in love.”

“less is always more. you manage to make these characters fall in love when they barely knew each other.  you made me fall in love with these characters in a week. i think that says something about you.”

“about me?”

harry nodded, and louis felt it against his cheeks. “about your intentions. that’s why i wanted these books, remember? i wanted to see the way your mind worked, and i think i’ve learned a lot. i want to keep learning.”

louis closed his eyes and watched the colors blot his vision like the paintings harry had hung up around his house. “there are other ways to get to know people,” he replied quietly.

“you’re right,” harry said suddenly. he sounded like he had an idea.

what have i done? louis thought.

harry left louis’ grip and turned around to face the older man. “let me take you out on a date.”

louis couldn’t help it--he laughed. not harshly, not even very loudly. but a pretty boy like harry, who was nineteen and full of youth and light, should not have been asking out old men such as himself. he was meant for the lonely men who were willing enough to harbor louis’ heavy parts. to harry they would be a burden.

harry didn’t seem to think so. “i’m serious, louis. don’t think of me as a child; i’m not. i want to take you out and talk to you properly, with dinner and conversation and the whole shabang.”

“well how can i deny the shabang? alas, i cannot. however, you’ve got to promise me one thing.”

harry cocked his head. “what’s that?”

“you can’t kiss me,” louis whispered. “stay true to your promise.”

harry frowned. “this is like a nicholas sparks novel.”

“let’s hope not. one of us will end up dead.”

he felt harry laughing against his chest and was suddenly very hopeful.

\--

louis pulled back the curtain of his bedroom window to see harry’s stilled motorboat running next to his dock. harry, with his aviators pushing back the thick curly fringe on his forehead, stood inside with one hand on the wheel and one hand gesturing for louis to join him. the older man barely spared a second thought as he pulled on a pair of jeans and rushed down to meet him.

outside was one of the nicer days on the lake, where the water was calm and the sun was grazing the back of their necks in a comforting touch. harry gave a hand to help louis into the rocking boat, and even though louis was perfectly capable of climbing in, he took it anyways.

“is this our fancy date?” louis asked, smiling at the large expanse of water spread out around them.

harry didn’t look his way but grinned as he turned the wheel and pulled out of the residential lake area. “thought we could grab a bite to eat.”

“are you taking me to the boardwalk or something?” there were a lot of seafood restaurants on the boardwalk that many people sailed to, but harry shook his head no and didn’t elaborate.

they drove for what felt like only a few seconds before the houses of their neighborhood grew smaller and smaller behind them and the only thing they could see for miles was fresh water and widow’s island. harry cut the engine then and turned to louis.

“i hope you like peanut butter and jelly because that was pretty much the only thing i had in the fridge.”

he leaned forward to the bow of the boat and pulled out a woven basket hidden under the bench.

“so that’s what this is,” louis laughed. “a water-side picnic.”

“i have peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, iced tea, and fruit salad,” harry declared proudly. “made it m’self.”

they sat on the bench in the stern, the waves bobbing them every so often in the otherwise calm lake. harry pulled each item out of the basket along with plates, cups, and a bowl of colorful, healthy-looking fruits.

“well, it looks like you put some effort into this, styles.”

“i’m better at cooking and baking than this, i swear,” he said, handing one half of a sandwich to louis. he took a bite and bit back a moan. “i like sushi and fruits a lot, but i’m really good at baked goods. pound cakes, muffins, rolls, biscuits, cinnamon twists. things like that. breakfast foods are easy too.”

“can you make eggs?”

harry’s face brightened. “yes. i’m amazing at them. i’ll make you breakfast one morning, how’s that?”

louis ignored the fact that he indirectly invited harry to stay for breakfast and took another bite of his sandwich. “so you’re a baker?”

harry shrugged. “i kind of worked in a bakery when i was sixteen, but it didn’t last long before i quit and moved here. still like to make things though. kind of a family tradition to work with your hands.”

louis thought of harry’s artistic mother and mechanic father and wondered what other things harry could do with his hands. he spent a little too much time the previous night thinking the same thing. it wasn’t his fault though--harry had a pretty face and a long, gorgeous torso. his hips were popped, and his legs were lengthy and lithe. but harry’s hands were unmistakable manly. they were large, with long, slender fingers and knuckles that were only slightly bruised up. his hands were distracting and big and louis wanted them all over his body.

“you’re kind of amazing, you know.”

harry looked up from his plate with a strange look. “me?”

“yes, you.”

“why me?”

louis bit his lip. “i don’t know. you’re just kind of amazing and wonderful in a lot of ways. like. you’re nice. and you do stuff. with your hands, even. and you read my work and actually like it. and put effort into making the best peanut butter and jelly sandwiches i’ve ever tasted. you’re just kind of great.”

harry blinked and then his big, toothy grin cut his face right in half. “you think i’m great.”

louis’ face heated. “don’t rub it in.”

“i’m not rubbing anything in,” harry said smugly, leaning back onto his arms. “i’m just reveling in the fact that world-famous author louis tomlinson likes me, of all people.”

louis harrumphed and narrowed his eyes. “i’m not world-famous, harold.”

“yes, you are. your words don’t ever die to me, even if you stop writing them.”

“is this your cute way of asking me to write again?”

harry smiled coyly. everything about harry was somehow coy. “only if you like me. only if you think i’m great and want to do me a favor to pay me back for these peanut butter and jelly sandwiches that i just slaved away to make.”

louis laughed good-naturedly, dropping the annoyed act, and shook his head. “you’re unbelievable. you can’t have everything, styles.”

“we already discussed this. and i chose to hear your words and read your work, but one day i’m not going to have another book to read, and the only way i’m going to get your thoughts out of your head is if i kiss them right out of your mouth. you’re too stubborn to say them out loud, obviously.”

“that is only if i let you kiss me. if i want you to.”

“of course.” harry’s face softened. “i hope that one day you will want to kiss me.”

louis didn’t admit how he’s wanted to kiss harry ever since he woke up to see that curious face above him. how he wanted to kiss harry when he invited himself into louis’ home and chatted him up, or when he sat out on his dock with talking of times pressed in his hands, or when he returned the book in his arms like it was the most precious thing he could be graced with. how he’s wanted harry, in the simplest of ways, in every instance the boy has presented himself. everything about it was unfair in louis’ eyes, because between the two of them, louis knew they were both aware of how much louis wanted harry to climb on top of him.

“you know,” louis said, letting his head fall back against the wall of the boat. “ron and hermione had seven years of sexual tension before they were making out.”

harry laughed. “they also waited so long to get together that they broke down at, like, the worst time possible. they were making out in the middle of the battle of hogwarts.”

“better late than never.”

harry shrugged. “so does this mean you’ll think about writing again?”

“harold, it’s not that easy. of course i want to write again, but more importantly i want to be happy with what i do write.”

“you’re never going to be happy with what you write if you never write a word.”

louis stretched out his bare feet on the bench and felt harry’s big hands take hold of his ankles and massage them. he bit back another moan as both of his feet landed in harry’s lap.

“and what about the kissing part?” harry inquired. “what do you think of that?”

“i’m always thinking of kissing you,” louis admitted without preamble. he closed his eyes and didn’t open them back up again when harry’s hands paused on his ankle bones and then resumed the massage.

“well that’s good to know.”

louis, so relieved at the casual tone in harry’s response, let out a laugh that came straight from some core part of his chest. a weight he didn’t know had been sitting inside him let up, and he curled into the soft part of the cushioned bench and let harry’s hands climb his feet to massage his calves.

“you have amazing fingers,” louis told him.

“you have soft skin.”

louis was so overwhelmed by the red crawling up his neck that he turned his face to hide his smile. “how about that fruit salad, chef.”

“ahh, yes. my masterpiece. complete with raspberries, green grapes, watermelon, blackberries, blueberries, and honeydew melon.”

“sounds… sweet.”

harry turned to louis and handed him a fork. “you know me. i take my antioxidants very seriously.”

\--

when the so-called fancy date came to an end, louis was wrapped in a tartan blanket harry kept between the cushions of the bench for when the weather fell. they just finished driving the boat back to the dock, and when harry cut the engine, the silence they met couldn’t be matched by any other moment in their lives.

harry broke it with a cough. “you know. if you want to. this doesn’t have to end now. you can come inside if you want…”

“that seems pretty presumptuous, harry,” louis said, even though it didn’t at all. he’d been dropping hints the entire date, and now that harry’s finally invited him in, his fingertips were tingling.

harry offered a hand once more, and louis didn’t hesitate to take it. they made their way to the bedroom like they usually did, but it seemed so innocent, louis wasn’t even nervous. harry somehow knew how to curl himself around louis in a way that made it seem like he was the short, small, delicate one. louis always felt in control when it came to harry, who was so eager to please and so loving when he did, and all louis wanted to do was praise him.

louis ran a hand through the hair at the nape of harry’s neck, curling one strand around his pinky finger.

“this is just like that scene from talking of times,” harry said quietly. louis could feel his lips move against his neck. “when caro sneaked into silas’ apartment after the wedding and they fell asleep in his room while the reception fell apart in the hotel across the street. that’s what this is. you’re about to admit your love for me and i’m going to cry and then we’ll wake up the next morning and we’ll be the happiest we’ve ever been.”

louis shook his head and felt some sort of fondness. harry was the the most visionary person he’d ever met, whose mind was some sort of art form people could only pretend to understand. he believed in fairytales and happy endings and louis only wrote about them because he didn’t think real life brought that kind of experience. he was so happy he met harry, who made him feel like he was a storybook character.

“i’m so happy i know you,” louis mouthed into the crown  of harry’s head. he didn’t think as he leaned down and placed a kiss there.

harry’s breath hitched audibly. “did you just…”

“doesn’t count,” louis whispered and kissed his head again. “do you mind?”

“not at all,” harry told him. “you can kiss me wherever you want to…”

louis’ torso shook with a silent laugh and harry’s hand on his shirt tightened. louis kissed his forehead.

“i was thinking you could take home another book,” louis admitted, lips grazing harry’s temple. “maybe this time you’ll read the weekend.”

“i’d love that. will this one make me cry?”

“i don’t know,” louis admitted. “it was one of the first i wrote, so probably not. but you’d have to read it to find out.”

harry made a content sound and nudged louis’ foot with his own. “i’m winning you over.”

“you don’t have to win me over, harold.”

harry made another sound, this time unintelligible, and mumbled, “i like that.”

louis didn’t remember when they fell asleep, only that they did.

\--

 

louis didn’t feel lonely anymore, mostly because he was constantly in harry’s presence. even when harry wasn’t there, louis could hear him starting up his boat or jumping off the dock, or talking with the one recurring friend harry told him was liam payne, someone he knew in highschool. it seemed like no matter which place he was in his house, the sounds of harry styles continued to filter in. it was those little reminders that he existed that made louis feel like he wasn’t alone.

the morning after their waterside picnic, louis woke up to the sound of harry tinkering with the kettle in the kitchen. the other side of the bed was warm, so he knew it hadn’t been too long, but it didn’t smell like harry so his heavy body sought out the boy himself.

“oh--bugger--fuck--” there was a crash and louis ran the rest of the hallway to see harry hopping on one foot, his toes clutched in his hand. the kitchen chair was toppled over.

louis rolled his eyes. “tripping over inanimate objects. endearing.”

harry smiled painfully, but his face seemed to soften with louis’ presence. “i made you eggs, like i promised. figured it was the least i could do since you so kindly offered your bed.”

louis gestured towards the kitchen. “and what did you come up with?”

“a delicious breakfast. sit down at the table and i’ll serve you, mister tomlinson.”

louis bit back a laugh and took his seat, sleepily brushing back his hair. harry brought over a plate of scrambled eggs and toast and set down a mug of tea next to it. he looked ridiculously domestic wearing louis’ blue KISS THE COOK apron over nothing but a pair of pacman boxer shorts. somehow though, his hair was the neatest he’d ever seen it, despite having just woken up.

“aren’t you going to have some eggs?” louis asked, but harry just waved him off dismissively.

“i ate as i cooked. you slept in longer than i expected. couldn’t bring myself to wake you, as i don’t know whether you’re a morning person or not.”

“i’m quite alright in the morning, actually. not necessarily a sleeping dragon. my friend zayn is awful--he used to beat anyone who woke him with his pillow.”

“sounds melodramatic.” harry yawned.

louis scoffed. “and i bet you’re the type of person who wakes up at dawn and goes for a run and cleans the house and--”

“makes his sleeping boyfriend breakfast?” harry smiled sweetly, innocently as if he didn’t just serve a heart attack alongside louis’ toast.

louis took a large bite of his eggs to avoid speaking.

harry looked at him expectantly. “sorry,” he said eventually. “that was a bit much.”

“no, it’s cute. and it’s not like you didn’t take me out a very extravagant date last night after which we practically slept together.”

“no kissing though, right?”

“right. we’re PG.”

harry’s foot shot out under the table and nudged louis’. “can’t we be at least PG-13?”

louis put his hand on harry’s thigh to settle him. it did the opposite. “how about we do something today?”

“my friend liam wants to meet you. he’s coming down in a bit, so i thought we could all hang out.”

“sounds fitting. i’ll go get dressed then.”

louis leaned forward as if to kiss harry and then thought better of it, remembering their deal. he settled for a peck to his cheek, and harry made a pleased sound.

he spent more time than he was proud of picking out an outfit, reconsidering every time he found something. from the sound of harry’s descriptions, liam was a big part of the younger boy’s life, but not romantically. he hadn’t considered the possibility of wanting to impress more than harry. to have harry, he needed harry’s life and friends and expectations.

he eventually settled on his only unripped black jeans and a long sleeved blue shirt, as is was a rather chilly day on the lake. he emerged from his room, black vans in hand, to see the kitchen spotless other than louis’ half empty cup of tea leaving a ring of water on his coffee table. harry was no where in sight. louis let out a breath and sat down to tie his laces.

ten minutes later, with louis still sipping his black tea at the table, harry appeared on the back deck of louis’ porch. he was clad in clean clothes and was waving through the glass slider for louis to let him in again.

“thought i’d try to dress up to the occasion. you look… lovely.”

harry sounded like he really meant it. louis smiled despite himself.

“and you look…” louis looked up and down at the younger boy. he dressed similarly as always, with his tight jeans, but his black shirt was tighter than his usual sweaters and his dark green headscarf had little glasses on them. “perfect. as per usual.”

harry put his hand on his hip and cocked it. “runway?”

“no time,” louis told him, swallowing hard. “don’t want to leave liam waiting.”

harry put a hand up to louis’ chest. “you’re too noble.”

“it’s a fatal flaw.”

\--

the boardwalk wasn’t much but accumulated most of the tourist attraction. it was more or less a long, wide dock over the dark lake with one side lined with booths and shops and the other side an expanse of parked boats and a view of distant islands. at the very end, just out a sight, a gigantic arcade could be heard as kids ran under their feet to get to it. at midday it wasn’t overly crowded, just a few people walking past each other.

harry was pulling louis down the strip towards a kiosk between a t-shirt stand and a music shop where a greasy but delicious fried dough booth stood. he took two plates from the man running it and paid despite louis’ protests.

“try this,” harry said, ignoring louis’ earlier comments. “it tastes a lot better with powdered sugar.”

“i know what the fried dough tastes like, harold,” louis chastised playfully. his mouth watered. the truth was, while he had tried the boardwalk’s fried dough, it had been at least a year since. he rarely came out to the boardwalk anymore, as it brought old memories and a dump of loneliness on louis’ dumb head.

but he wasn't alone this time, and harry was looking happy and young next to him, the actual picture of company and louis couldn’t be more pleased with his choice of companion. he had forgotten what it felt like to have someone waiting on his every word, to have someone he listened to even when they weren’t talking. he forgot what it felt like to be in the presence of someone who made his blood tingle under a layer of skin that felt much too thick when they were pressed together. suddenly he didn’t feel as old and as tired and as alone.

they walked aimlessly for a while. harry, who rarely came up to the lake, was fairly new to all the attractions and was overly enthusiastic about every detail. louis couldn’t blame him, though. everything out on the water had changed since his last visit and in some weird sense of nostalgia, he was almost every bit as new to this adventure as harry was.

harry eventually found his way over to a long desk displaying a plethora of beautiful fabrics, scarves, and tapestries. his expression shifted so suddenly, and louis had never been so endeared. the long, flowing materials dangled off a long pole and the wispy ends moved with the breeze. harry’s hands closed around a few as he took them off the rack and held them up to the mirror.

“i like this one,” louis said, eyeing a dark one dotted with skulls. it differed from the seafoam green one harry had in his hands, but something about it felt so much like harry he couldn’t help but bring it up. “here, try it.” louis held it up to his head and harry let him wrap and tie it behind his ears. when louis pulled back, harry’s fingers trailed the cloth knotted underneath the curly tendrils of his hair and smiled so wide it cut his face in half.

“well…” harry trailed, turning towards the mirror and biting his lip appreciatively. “i do like it…”

“it’s on me,” louis promised. “you did buy us fried dough, after all.”

harry dug his elbow into louis’ ribs and nudged him pack. he paid the man who ran the desk and took harry’s hand again, holding harry’s original green scarf in his other palm.

\--

liam arrived half past two, when the water had settled down and the traffic had just beat the lunchtime rush. he had big, broad shoulders and a good face, the kind of whole-hearted, pleasant expression that made louis feel like this man had never done wrong in his life. he knew what liam looked like of course, but only the basics--he could not see liam’s brown eyes or crinkly eyed smile from across the docks connecting his and harry’s houses.

louis probably would have not made friends with liam if he were still twenty and young and as reckless as a teenager. he spent his childhood lighting fireworks and breaking windows and throwing parties that woke up the neighbors, and for some reason louis felt like liam was the kind of person who liked to read the newspaper and help the old ladies across the street bring in their groceries.

but as it was, louis was not breaking windows anymore, and harry looked at liam as if the sun shone out of his ass. he might as well put in some effort.

“uh--hi,” liam said, sticking out a hand for louis to take.

“liam this is louis--louis… this is liam. we’ve been friends our whole lives.”

“we lived in a secluded cul-de-sac in the suburbs so naturally we had to look out for each other.” liam laughed, and his eyes crinkled together like an old man’s.

louis thought inexplicably of zayn and the hundreds of nights he spent camped out on his couch, the school projects they stayed up all night bullshitting, the fights they broke up and/or started. within seconds he went from feeling okay to feeling like he needed zayn there immediately, to having his fingers itch in liam’s grasp, to wanting to tell his best friend i’ve found the most amazing person alive and he makes he feel something so overwhelming i can’t breathe and i want you to feel that too.

“you guys must be pretty close then,” said louis instead.

liam shrugged. “there’s no way to know each other for so many years and not be as close as we are.” he paused. “although harry here seems to have made quite the impression on you in these last few days.”

louis felt the corner of his mouth turn up. “he really has.”

harry’s head turned back and forth between the two of them, awe on his face like he couldn’t believe the two people he cared for were interacting. “i have so much to tell you, li. did you know that louis is a writer? he was published when he was twenty-three. crazy, right?”

he trailed on like that with one hand pressed into louis’ and the other gripping liam’s jacket sleeve like a vice. he walked them down the half-moon pier, which was alive even as the red evening sky darkened around it. the fluorescent lights of the arcade at the end looked like a light at the end of a tunnel. once they stepped in, a knot of children still in school uniforms ran by them, breaking louis' grip. harry turned around and took him right back.

“he sounds like a good person to brag about,” liam said once harry finished. “you’ve done a lot in your years.”

“harry likes to talk. the books aren’t really that good and i’m not really into that scene anymore.”

harry turned and hit louis’ in the arm. it was awfully cute. “don’t say that about the best book i’ve ever read.”

“it was the only book you’ve ever read,” louis laughed good naturedly, “although i appreciate the support.”

harry gave a smile and back away from them. “i’ll get us some tickets guys, find a table to put your stuff down, and i’ll be right back.”

he disappeared behind a cluster of teenage girls playing skeeball and liam clapped him on the shoulder.

“it’s been a long time since i’ve seen harry brag about someone like that.”

louis didn’t know why he felt nervous. liam was, like, ten years younger and probably watched late night sitcoms in his spare time. not really someone to fear, but the way he stared down at louis resembled what a father might look like to the bratty teenager taking out his daughter. he feared liam in a way, and that made him really wonder what he’d gotten himself into.

liam probably felt louis tense underneath him, and his grip softened. “i’m not gonna warn you, mate, i’m just saying. you’re an older guy who’s probably experienced a lot more than he has and you have to be careful. i don’t care what kind of spiritual crap he spouts about physical age, he’s a teeanger and i’ve always had to look out for him.”  
louis straightened his shoulders and looked him square in the eye because he’d be damned if liam payne were to show him up. absently he wondered if liam swung both ways. he was exactly the type of good boy-bad boy combo zayn lusted after in high school. “you don’t have to give me the father talk. you’re right, i’m older. i know what i’m doing.”

before liam could respond harry came back with a three cups of tokens and a plate of corndogs, cheeks red with perspiration. “good news!” he said. “corndogs were, like, five bucks for the plate.”

liam broke out of his fatherly trance once harry returned, but shot louis a look of approval that made him feel like maybe liam wasn’t so bad. he liked the guy. just a bit.

they bought a round of drinks, beer for louis and liam and some kind of fruity margarita for harry, who claimed that it tasted better than any kind of malt the other boys bought. harry found his forte with the wheel of fortune game, dropping coins left and right and earned hundreds of tickets with the jackpot. liam proved to louis he was cooler than louis originally thought by landing net after net at the basketball game. louis, who had the upperhand with his experience in this arcade, got the most with the dance dance revolution. he felt like an idiot and looked like an idiot, but no one complained when out sputtered four hundred tickets for his highscore.

“i couldn’t have done that,” harry congratulated him. he gave louis a hug once he stepped down even though his body was dripping with sweat. liam had wandered off to cash his tickets after cheering him on and louis couldn’t make him out through the sea of people. they walked back to their seats together so louis could rest his legs and pick up a corndog gratefully.

“i don’t doubt it. you have the legs of a newborn calf.”

“heeeeey.” harry nudged louis shoulder. louis laughed and pushed back his fringe.

background noise started to fade when harry leaned his head on louis’ shoulder. all the whirring and buzzing of video games, the sounds of teenagers and toddlers and grown adults laughing and talking and drinking, the distant sound of the lake water hitting the pier--it all faded when harry’s mouth went to louis’ throat and stayed there for a kiss.

instinctively, louis’ hand went to harry’s spine to steady him but it felt more like he was steadying himself. harry pulled away but kept a hand on the lapels of louis’ jacket, and all in one moment louis realized he’d been incredibly stupid.

“i need to kiss you,” he said, making sure harry knew his intentions. “if that’s alright with you.”

harry snorted. “when has it never been alright with me. put down that damn corndog and kiss me.”

louis dropped the corndog. it probably landed on the floor or something, but he didn’t see it fall and didn't dare check. harry finally got his lips on louis’ and he felt something in his stomach give. they were the only still things in a room full of moving objects and dancing people and running children. they were completely still and then they were anything but. harry put his hands on louis’ neck and louis wrapped his arms around harry’s waist and louis could not believe he’d ever make a deal to avoid something like this. he decided then that there would never be a day he didn’t want harry’s lips on his, on his neck, on his cheek, on him anywhere.

harry’s chest was solid against his own. his heartbeat was loud and louis felt it rattle his nerves. harry wasn’t a towering wall of a person, didn’t have a chest he described in his books as all flat planes and hard abs and straight lines. his chest felt like a system of heartbeats and blood flow and it curved with him in a way he’d never be able to write about. harry’s body felt most alive when it was pressed against his own.

\--

louis wasn’t a sentimental person, despite the whole romance novels and poetry writing and philosophy thing. louis wrote about things he wanted to understand. he spent his twenties traveling across europe, making out with older men in smoky dive bars and escaping with a hangover the next morning to write ten thousand words in a broken down coffee shop. he wrote about love and lust and trust and talked about finding your true passion but never actually did and never actually wanted to. sure, a string of lovers from venice and paris and rome were one thing. he couldn’t deny what liam said; he was experienced. but he wasn’t experienced like this. he dated since he was fifteen and harbored a crush on a pretty boy in his english class (it was the thirty-five year old teacher who was married with two kids, but who really cared about details anyway). however in those fourteen years, he’d never felt something so akin to reality.

it kept him up that night, once harry returned ruefully to his house before leaning down and stealing one last kiss. it was so late by then that with a few steps the darkness swallowed harry and louis couldn’t see him anymore.

louis didn’t think he’d ever be able to sleep again. by the time the clock struck three, he couldn’t take it anymore. he fished through his coat pocket, slung haphazardly over the couch where he threw it in exasperation earlier, and dialed zayn’s number by heart. it felt like an odd sensation of deja vu.

zayn’s sleep-coursed voice came through by the fourth ring. “lou?” he sounded surprised and louis couldn’t blame him. what were you supposed to say to your once best friend who hasn’t texted or called in the last three months? he either needed to start crying or start apologizing.

“hey, zaynie.”

“are you okay? it’s late.”

he wanted to start talking about harry and how happy he looked when louis finally pulled away from his kiss. he wanted to start talking about liam, and how perfectly zayn would look in his arms. he wanted to start talking about how much he’d missed zayn’s voice and how sorry he was for his distance and how he realized that he wasn’t eighteen and reckless anymore but he didn’t want to be alone.

“i started writing again,” is what he said and he could hear how sad he sounded by echo of his voice in zayn’s receiver.

“do you want me to come over?” zayn asked resignedly, and louis wanted to cry because that’s how he knew zayn was his best friend. because only zayn would know why it was sad louis was writing again and why it was so important for louis to call him at three in the morning and why he didn’t want to be alone.

“yes,” louis replied, snuggling into the couch cushion and listening for the sound of zayn’s quiet breathing. “come over. i miss you.”

“i’ll be right there. hang in for a while.”

\--

zayn lived over an hour of of town but he made it to louis’ home in forty-five.

they fell together like they’d never been apart. louis was a twenty-nine year old grown man but he had no problem sitting in zayn’s lap and telling him all about the boy next door.

“i’m sorry i haven’t called you in forever. i don’t want to be alone anymore, i’ve learned that now.”

“was there a time you ever honestly wanted to be alone?” zayn asked rhetorically. his hand rubbed the back of louis’ neck soothingly.

they were used to calming each other down. when louis ran away from home that one week in year eleven and stayed on zayn’s couch, zayn gave him a massage every night until he fell asleep and then hooked him up with the hottest boy on the footy team. when zayn dropped out of artschool and lost his apartment in central london after avoiding his rent for three months in a row, louis returned the favor by giving him his spare room and jamming out with him to bohemian rhapsody all day every day until the clock was young again and zayn was passed out on the carpet. they knew how to work with and around each other and louis felt very stupid for ever thinking he could survive a world that didn’t involve zayn malik.

“no,” louis said anyway. he felt like he needed to explain himself. “it just got harder and harder to pick up the phone and eventually i stopped calling and you stopped trying. but i’m done being stupid and you’re amazing and i’ll do anything to make it up to you.”

zayn gave a shrug of his shoulders and even in the dark of the night, louis could see his famous smirk light up. “you don’t have to do anything, babe. i’m just happy you’re back. now tell me about the boy toy that’s got you wrapped around your finger.”

louis groaned melodramatically and let his head plop right back in zayn’s shoulder. “he’s so pretty, zayn. like what the hell.”

\--

the next morning, or rather later that day, louis woke up early and made zayn a plate of scrambled eggs and toast. it was his quiet way of acknowledging how grateful he was for zayn and how sorry he was for being a knob. after a moment of hesitation, he called harry and offered him a place at the table. he tried not to look too fond as he heard harry’s deep morning voice through the receiver, but from the smug look on his friend’s face he knew he failed.

louis couldn’t say he hadn’t thought about introducing harry to zayn, showing him off like a prize, telling him this is the boy i was talking about; look, his smile is just as endearing as i told you it was and more. up until a few hours ago, though, louis didn’t think it was likely.

louis waited anxiously for him to arrive, getting together a plate of eggs and bacon. when he saw his boy on the back deck, knocking shyly on the glass slider, he raced to open it for him.

“goodmorning, babe,” louis said without even processing his words. he leaned down to kiss him just as naturally.

that was a new aspect of their relationship he didn’t mind exploring, hopefully for a long time and in many different ways. he wasn’t nineteen but he did feel humbled and inexperienced when he kissed harry. harry, who kissed like he knew what he wanted and yet framed his body in a way that let louis know it was up to him. harry, who was warm and solid and wildly alive beneath him yet was so composed louis could tell he knew what he was doing.

the sound of zayn clearing his throat was too loud to be unintentional, but harry pulled away ruefully anyway.

louis opened his mouth to introduce them, but harry beat him to it. he cut in front of louis and gave zayn a charming smile. “hi, i’m harry.”

zayn chewed a piece of bacon and smiled back. his eyes crinkled together in the familiar way louis missed. “zayn malik.”

“louis has told me lots about you.” harry sat down next to louis and dug in gratefully.

"i can honestly say," zayn began slowly, "that louis has told me everything about you."

louis was a grown up. he wasn't going to blush.

(except he totally did.)

\--

it was harry's idea. he brought liam over less than an hour later and together they watched him gravitate closer and closer to zayn until harry and louis excused themselves politely for an evening stroll. neither of them looked back, but if they had they would have seen liam’s blushing smile.

they couldn't have asked for a more perfect day. the lake was smooth like silk and harry looked stunning in a pair of louis' aviators. looking at harry, louis decided, was like looking at the sun. it was so painful yet so rewarding because at the end of the day harry's light crept into even the darkest caverns of louis' mind.

it took them nearly twenty minutes to reach the island and ten minutes after that to find a dock to tie the boat up to. it was clearly uninhabited and looked as though no one had bothered to take care of its shore, but there was something regal about the way the trees stood so tall and connected that pulled louis in. it had arching trunks and featherlike leaves, and each crunch of gravel beneath their feet sounded rich. through the thickets and grass and sand, in the distance they could only see more looming forest.

harry took louis' hand and louis was almost embarrassed of the way his heart ached.

"my mother used to paint a specific place a lot. it's a little abandoned shack near the edge down there. not really anything special or of importance but she always made it look like it was a place worth visiting."

he led the way down, and louis followed simply, admiring the way harry's hair spiraled out and collected at the nape of his neck. when they arrived, louis could tell what he had meant. it was incredibly small, probably not even large enough for a person to live in. it had to have been one or two rooms, closed off by a simple screen door that broke off at the hinges. it was a shack at most, standing on its last leg.

however that changed when harry opened the door and showed louis the inside. it was still broken down, but it was covered from head to toe in potted plants, cups with growing flowers, and window sill boxes filled with carnations and hydrangeas and diaises. light fed in through a massive hole from the wooden ceiling.

"this is my personal garden of eden," harry said quietly. "the terrain of my home is too sandy to grow a lot of what i want and any other method i've tried always gets pulled out by foxes and black bears. those plants in my windows are as much as I can keep."

it took a lot to make someone like louis speechless, but somehow harry had done it. he'd never felt more in awe.

harry leaned his hips back shyly against the wall and looked up at louis like he was nervous, though louis had no idea for what. harry was the incredible one, and all louis could think of was how lame he was and how much he wanted harry to kiss him.

"come here," louis said, and harry did.

kissing harry was an experience. sometimes it was clumsy and fumbling like a teenager his first time and others it was smooth and practiced in a way that made louis feel like his heart had never been steadier in his chest. sometimes louis thought harry was the most steady part of his life altogether.

this time, however, it was neither of those. harry's hands crept up to take louis' and suddenly they were holding hands, mouths breaking apart for only a second before finding each other again.

"i cannot believe you, harry styles," louis muttered into the side of harry's lips and harry let out a caught laugh. "you aren't even real."

"i'm very real. feel." then, harry's hand took louis' and repositioned it on his waist.

louis did feel. harry was very real and very solid beneath him. harry was the farthest thing from fiction louis had ever loved and it was that realization that broke him.

"you're real," louis repeated, almost blankly. "you're real and you love me."

harry paused and then relaxed and louis felt every muscle in the younger boys body soften. "of course i do."

louis didn't know what to say in response so he chased for harry's mouth again and suppressed a moan when he caught it. harry nudged his knee in between louis' legs and louis hitched the other up over his hip. something in him gave when harry agreed to his sentiment and he felt his body tumbling forward, taking harry's thigh in his hand, inching for the button on his ripped and patched up again jeans.

apparently deciding louis was taking too long, harry shook louis' hands away and pulled away to strip for himself, making a show of peeling off his shirt. louis laughed freely and wasted no time in pulling harry back into his embrace. he was so caught up in harry in general, who was so overwhelming it consumed very part of his body, that he felt himself struggling to appreciate every part of harry he wanted to.

under the bright skylight ray, he was the sun, and louis started by admiring the way harry's golden skin spanned across his body.

 


End file.
